


All in Green

by kaeorin



Series: Stark Tower: Avengers Drabbles [13]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-15 19:18:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18675838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaeorin/pseuds/kaeorin
Summary: You put on an old favorite sweater, which just happens to be green. A series of awkward mishaps ensues, and then you and Loki wind up in a closet together.





	All in Green

**Author's Note:**

> This _is_ a different reader from the other Stark Tower drabbles, I think. I think maybe all of those reader-characters are different characters. There's not really any one overarching plot here. Maybe I'm using the "series" feature wrong, but it's still nice to keep all my Marvel stuff together.

It started with a sweater.

It wasn’t anything all that special, really: just some oversized, cable-knit thing that you’d picked up at a thrift store. You liked it because it was soft, and because you could pull the sleeves down over your hands when you got cold, but they also mostly stayed in place when you pushed the sleeves up your forearms. It was too big in just the right way, and kept you just warm enough without ever making you overheat. 

You didn’t even really think about the color until you wore it to a movie night. Everyone was there, sitting comfortably on couches or in easy chairs. It was always a little intimidating, walking into a room that held the motherfucking Avengers, but Tony raised a glass to you in greeting, and Bruce shoved a bowl of popcorn into your arms. You took your seat next to Wanda and smiled to yourself as she reached to take a fistful of popcorn. These nights were always so surreal.

“You look nice,” she said. Her voice was a little _too_ nonchalant, and she wouldn’t look at you. You looked down at yourself, but your outfit was pretty basic—just that sweater, a pair of black leggings, and a pair of obnoxious fuzzy socks to keep your feet warm. It wasn’t exactly skintight body armor, sure, but it also wasn’t out of the ordinary for any of you in the room. 

“I don’t...what?” If she was making a joke, you didn’t get it. “What do you mean?”

She still didn’t turn her head to look at you, but you saw the way her corner of her mouth curled into a sly smile. “Nothing. You just look nice in green.” 

You looked down at yourself again. The sweater was a bright, brilliant emerald green. That was what had first drawn your eye to the rack in the store. You didn’t wear a lot of green, really, but you had a few pieces here and there. There was just something about the brilliance that you really liked—it wasn’t overly loud or eye-catching, but it was nice to look at. Soothing. It was a little splash of color to brighten up the days of late fall and early winter, without screaming for attention. Then again, you were doubting yourself a little now.

Wanda made a sound that fell somewhere between a snort and a scoff and finally looked at you head-on. “You really don’t know?”

“Know _what_?” You didn’t like snapping at her—at anyone, really—but you couldn’t help it. You’d come down here to have a fun, stupid, mindless bonding night with the rest of the team, but if she was just going to keep being weird and cryptic, there was a novel on your nightstand that was calling your name.

She sighed now, and scooted a little closer to you so she could rest her head on your shoulder. “You’ll see soon enough.” She took another fistful of popcorn and munched on it quietly even as Tony dimmed the lights and started the movie. Across the room, a pair of green-blue eyes remained fixed on you in the darkness.

***

Partway through the film, you felt yourself growing restless. It was nice, when the whole team got to spend time together like this, but it was rare enough that you weren’t really used to it. You excused yourself to the kitchen under the guise of getting a drink, but then delayed a little longer than was necessary, simply relishing the way it felt to be on your feet and not surrounded by so many other people. Movement in the doorway caught your attention, and you looked up in time to see Loki slinking through the door. He met your eyes and offered you a tight smile.

“Hey!” Your voice was a little too loud, almost...shrill. You did your best not to visibly cringe, but you did clear your throat. “You want a drink?” But you didn’t wait for an answer before spinning around to get a glass from the cupboard. Truth be told, Loki made you nervous. It wasn’t the whole Battle-of-New-York thing, either. It was just...him. He was so beautiful, but so silent. Sullen. Since his arrival in the Tower, you had kind of admired him from afar, too shy to get too close. Even so, you could sense a sadness behind his exasperated sighs and rolling eyes. Maybe it was presumptuous of you, or maybe it was just your naive nature, but you always kind of wished you could ease that away. Make him smile.

It was a damn good thing that Asgardians couldn’t read minds.

You stretched up onto your tiptoes and closed your fingers around a glass before turning back around. But he was right there, towering above you in all his regal, Asgardian glory. You sucked in a breath, startled, and fumbled with the glass. It slipped out of your fingers (why were your hands so clammy?) but he caught it before it could hit the floor. He was so close. And so tall. You had to tilt your head back so you could look up at him. When you did, his face was unreadable. But his eyes were locked on you.

“Careful, there. Wouldn’t want to see you hurt,” he said. His voice sent little thrills through your body. He reached to place the glass down behind you. You might have backed away from him, if you hadn’t already been more or less pinned between him and the counter. Not that you necessarily minded. The smell of him—of musk and spice and soap—filled your senses and made your head spin. Without thinking about it, you reached out to rest your hand on his chest, to steady yourself.

“I’m sturdier than I look. I promise.” But surely he could hear how wobbly your voice sounded, right? It was hard not to laugh. You hoped he didn’t think you were afraid of him. Because...this wasn’t fear. Your stomach did a stupid little flip when you ventured another look at his face.

“You are lovely in this color.” His voice, despite how near he was, sounded...distant. Faraway. He reached up to brush his fingers along your shoulder, tracing one of the sections of cable that trailed up and over your shoulder. The words were familiar—or the sentiment was, anyway—they were Wanda’s, more or less. This time, you felt your cheeks grow warm, and then it was your turn to brush self-consciously at the front of your sweater.

“Thanks. I...I don’t wear a lot of green, I guess, but maybe I should? Wanda said the same thing a little while ago. Er… Or kind of. Not in those words, I mean.” Your tongue felt too large for your mouth. If you could just re-establish a personal bubble, maybe you could stop babbling at this god like a fool.

“Well, it caught _my_ attention first.” His hand hovered in the air near your cheek for a moment, but then dipped to the side. He took a lock of your hair and twisted it gently around his finger. Your heart was a drumbeat in your chest. He was studying your hair. Somehow, the harsh overhead light caught in the strands and made them glow against his skin. You felt hypnotized, watching him touch you. Where was this coming from? “I do like green.”

It took a moment for his words to penetrate the fog that had settled in around your brain, but when it did, you could have slapped your forehead. “Oh! Your cape was green. Or...is green. Green is kind of your color, isn’t it?” How could you have forgotten that? Now that you were thinking about it again, you remembered the disturbing images that had flashed across television screens during the Battle of New York—horrors, nightmares, all perpetrated by a man that you liked looking at just a little too much. 

The spell had been broken. He released your hair with a jerk of his wrist and seemed to recoil from you. Only a few extra steps separated you now, but, oddly enough, you found that you missed his closeness. “You didn’t—” He ran his fingers through his hair and continued to back away from you. “By the norns...Forgive me. I’m sorry.” His grace faltered for a moment as he backed into the table. He spun to set right the chair that he’d knocked over, and then, without so much as a backwards glance, he fled the room.

You stood there several minutes too long, looking at the doorway through which he had passed. Your head was spinning. In such a short amount of time, how had so much happened that needed so much careful consideration? You twirled that same lock of hair around your own finger and replayed the whole bizarre encounter in your mind. He’d been so close, and somehow—in his own particular way—so open. Almost...vulnerable? And he’d smelled so good. What had brought him here? You looked down at your sweater again. The green. Loki-cape-green. 

He’d thought you were wearing it for him.

Your stomach twisted and you covered your face with your hands. You’d done a fantastic job of shattering _that_ illusion and scaring him off all at once. Fantastic.

***

He wouldn’t look at you again for several weeks. The rational side of your mind called you an idiot for noticing and caring—you had never once wasted your time imagining that someone like him would ever pay much attention to someone like you, so really things should have felt like they always did—but you couldn’t help but feel…bereft. You’d been so close to _something_ and then you’d gone and screwed it up. 

And of course, rather than just accepting the state of things and moving on with your life...you started to lurk. 

To be fair, you started doing it out of consideration for Loki. If he was in a common space—the living room, a study, god forbid the kitchen—and you came in, he practically tripped over himself trying to get away. The others hadn’t really seemed to notice, thankfully, but surely it was only a matter of time. To save yourself the embarrassment of Natasha cornering you and demanding to know what had happened, you took to peeking quietly around doorways before entering a room. 

Usually, it wasn’t a problem. Even before the debacle on movie night, he tended to spend a lot of time in his room. It didn’t take long for you to discover, however, that he moved more freely at night. When the Tower was silent and everyone else was tucked safely away on their own floors, Loki liked to come down into the sitting room and read. Maybe you spent a little too much time watching him, but it was hard to resist. It was the only time that he really looked comfortable: when he thought he was alone. You ached for him. He lived in near-constant discomfort, surrounded by people who had once wanted him dead. 

One night, you crept downstairs. If anyone asked, you wanted a cup of tea, but you knew that no one would ask. As usual, you checked the kitchen before entering, but it was dark and deserted. Instead of immediately putting the kettle on, you wandered a bit. There was a soft glow coming from the sitting room—you recognized it as light from the lamp. Quietly, you peered around the door. Loki was stretched out in one of the armchairs. His feet, looking strangely normal in his white socks, rested on a leather ottoman, and an open book lay face-down on his chest. He was asleep. He’d come back from a mission with Thor and Bruce just that morning—it must have been a hard one, if he fell asleep in a common area like this. You stepped away from the doorway, but didn’t go back to the kitchen. It was creepy, what you were doing. It was one thing to feel bad for him, or to feel bad for embarrassing him, but it was something else entirely to watch him sleep. But still you couldn’t leave. 

There was a blanket on the back of the other armchair—something left behind by one of your teammates, maybe. Surely you could creep inside and cover him up and then creep back out without waking him up. Stealth missions were a big part of your job, after all, and he couldn’t use those godlike Asgardian senses if he was dead to the world, could he?

You took a deep breath to steel yourself for your new mission and crept inside. The plush carpet muffled your footsteps as you approached the other chair and picked up the blanket. He didn’t even stir. Willing your heart to be quiet, you stepped closer to him—just close enough to spread the blanket in his lap. A part of you wanted to try to tuck it securely around him, but you didn’t quite have the courage for that. Instead, you gingerly tugged on one corner, to cover a little more of his chest.

Suddenly, there was a knife at your throat, the tip just barely pressing against your skin. Loki’s dagger. You’d woken him up. You did your best to remain still, not to flinch, to keep from startling him. “Loki,” you breathed. Now your heart was pounding for very different reasons. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“What do you want?” His voice was raspy, like he was still half-asleep, and confusion colored his words. Somehow, that was reassuring. Even someone like him was a little fuzzy upon waking.

“It’s just me,” you said, and instantly regretted the words. Were they supposed to comfort him? They were more likely to send him running from the room. Thankfully—and surprisingly—he didn’t get up. His knife disappeared into thin air once again, but he let his hand fall back onto his chest. He tilted his backwards to let it rest against the chair again and breathed out, long and slow.

“Did I hurt you?” He wouldn’t look at you, but at this point, that was par for the course. You shook your head and resisted the urge to rub your fingers along your throat, where the knife’s tip had been pressing. It stung a little. “That was foolish. I could have killed you.”

He had a point. You wanted to step away from him, but your traitorous feet refused to move. “I know. I’m sorry. I thought I could cover you up without waking you. I...didn’t want you to get cold.”

“I don’t _get_ cold.” 

Maybe not, but his voice was certainly the definition of icy. “Right. Of course not. I forgot, I guess.” He snorted at that, and the sound was not quite humorous, but also not quite derisive. “Um. Anyway. I’m glad you’re home safe. Or. Back here safe.”

“You’re not more comfortable when I’m gone?” He spoke softly, and rubbed his face as he did, but you understood him anyway. There was shame in his voice. He was still embarrassed about what had happened in the kitchen. This poor man. 

“I like it when you’re here, Loki.” Your cheeks burned as soon as you’d said the words, but they were true. And maybe he needed to hear them tonight. For the first time in ages, he looked at you. His eyes were rich in the lamplight, warm. Would it be too much to tell him that you liked it when he looked at you, too? Probably, yeah. Instead, you offered him a small smile, before lowering your eyes. “I should go. Enjoy your book. Or, uh...sleep well.” You didn’t like the thought of him sleeping down here in that chair, but you knew it would be futile to try to tell him to go to bed. 

Loki waited to speak until just before you left the room. “Then stop sneaking around. This is your home. You should be able to roam freely, without peeping around corners. I won’t attack you here.”

You froze in your tracks, but didn’t turn to face him. Of course he’d known all along what you were doing. A thousand words tumbled around in your mind—explanations, apologies, questions—but each of them dissipated before you could string very many together. Finally, a coherent thought surfaced. “Then will you at least stop running away from me?”

Silence stretched between you almost long enough to make you think he’d fallen asleep again. If he’d even _been_ asleep. You could almost imagine him scoffing at you, at the idea of running away from you. To his credit, he didn’t. When he did finally speak, his voice was quieter than perhaps you’d ever heard it. “I was...foolish.” Another apology? You wanted to look at him, but something told you he needed the privacy. Instead, you tugged at your earlobe and shifted your weight from one foot to the other. 

“Not... _so_ foolish.” The words came out in a rush, and you didn’t wait around to hear his response. The truth was, you would have worn the sweater for him, if you’d thought he would have cared. 

You hurried back to your own room and tucked yourself under your blankets, trying not to play the conversation over in your mind.

***

The weeks continued to speed past. Before long, it was May, which always brought with it one of Tony’s parties. He had never made a big deal out of the reason for the party—it had taken you two years to figure out that you were celebrating his birthday. He also wasn’t much for presents, but you couldn’t really blame him for that. When someone had as much money as Tony Stark, why would they ever need people to buy them anything?

The parties were almost always pretty low-key, at least compared to his other parties. The décor was always perfectly classy, and the food was always abundant and delicious. Though there were fewer guests for Tony’s birthday than there were for, say, New Year’s, they always came dressed to kill. You loved Tony, and you loved celebrating his birthday with him, but it was always nerve-wracking. You knew that your friends and teammates didn’t care what you looked like, but damn if it wasn’t intimidating, feeling like you had to compete with the gorgeous women in their slinky cocktail dresses.

A few weeks earlier, you’d convinced Wanda to go shopping with you. You hated shopping for clothes by yourself and, anyway, you wanted a second opinion on whatever dress you picked out. Wanda found her dress right away, of course, and happily set about finding possibilities for you and bringing them to the fitting rooms so you didn’t have to keep re-dressing. 

“Green? Again?” You called through the door as you held her most recent offering out in front of you, examining it with some level of skepticism. She was choosing lovely dresses, but it was hard to imagine how Loki might respond to a green dress. Would he just be reminded of what had happened in the kitchen? Would he avoid you all night?

“You should trust me.” Though you couldn’t see her face, you could hear the smile in her words.

“I _do_ trust you.” When it counted. Briefly, you considered telling Wanda what had happened with your damn sweater, but you held your tongue. Somehow, it seemed unfair, like it wasn’t entirely your story to tell. Sure, she was unlikely to give Loki any shit for it, but it still wasn’t something he’d want people to know about.

“Then try it on and let me see.” She spoke as though it were so easy. “Come on, hurry up and pick something. I want lunch.”

You didn’t respond. At least this green was a little bit darker than your sweater, not quite as vibrant. The materials was cool and silky against your skin as you pulled it off of the hanger and put it on. It hugged close to your torso, fitting as though it’d been made for you, but then flared out a bit in the skirt. You gave a quick twirl in front of the mirror after struggling with the zipper. It wasn’t bad. It really wasn’t bad.

You opened the door to the fitting room to show Wanda, and her eyes practically lit up. “That’s the one,” she said with a quick nod. “You need that one. Get that one.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re hungry.” But you were inclined to agree with her. This dress made you feel like maybe you could almost hold your own against the gorgeous women who always showed up to parties at the Tower. You turned away from her again, to look back at the mirror. It was a really nice dress: simple, understated. It hugged your curves without conforming completely to your body. And you had to admit, the green nearly glowed against your skin. You brushed thoughtfully at the skirt.

“And because that’s the dress. He’s going to lose his mind.”

“Who?” Your voice was just a little too sharp but, when you met her eyes in the mirror, Wanda was still grinning. She let the expression fade somewhat, into something closely approximating innocence, and shrugged.

“Anyone. Everyone. Come on. I grow faint with hunger.” She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead and pretended to swoon against the doorframe. You grumbled to yourself as you closed the door to put your own clothes back on.

***

Your concerns were mostly unfounded. Your teammates made an appropriate amount of fuss over your appearance at the party, but no one raised an eyebrow at the color of your dress. That made you feel a little better about that night in the kitchen, to be honest—less like you’d missed some obvious memo about avoiding certain colors. Sam and Bucky got into a pretend-but-not-really-pretend wrestling match to see who would have the honor of dancing with you first, and when they were finished, Sam whisked you away before Bucky could recover and threaten his life.

It was hard not to laugh when you were with Sam. He was funny and engaging—and a damn good dancer. You let him lead you around, moving fluidly in time with the music. But you were scanning the crowd. 

It was actually stupid to expect to see Loki at the party. Sometimes Thor could convince him to put in an appearance, but Loki did not commonly appear to enjoy mingling with the large crowds of Midgardians. Maybe it was for the best. Still, you couldn’t quite shake off that odd feeling of...disappointment. When the song ended, you threw yourself into conversation, standing around and chatting and laughing with small groups of people for a while, before moving on to the next one. It was a little tiring, to be sure, but these events were rare enough that you could appreciate them. 

A few hours into the evening, just as you were feeling yourself start to fade, something in the crowd caught your eye. Loki. He was there in a perfectly-tailored suit, his hair slicked back and his face carefully composed into a mask of neutrality. Even at a distance, however, you could sense his discomfort. So Thor had won out after all. 

Suddenly, all of your self-consciousness came rushing back to you. The dress. The color. Would Loki remember the night in the kitchen? Or the night in the sitting room? You didn’t know what, exactly, had come over you that night, but you had yet to have to deal with any of the fallout.

Before you could make a decision—go up to him or find a place to hide—his gaze fell on you. For several long moments, his face remained blank and impassive. His eyes travelled the length of your body, taking in your dress and the shape of your body before they finally made it up to your face. His eyebrows twitched, but his face gave nothing away. You attempted a smile, but it was hard to tell what your face actually did. 

He approached, and held out his arms as though inviting you to dance. You stepped closer to him without saying a word. If Sam was a good dancer, Loki was magical. He moved effortlessly, and something about him made you feel like a better dancer yourself. When he spun you out away from himself, only to tug you back in against his body, it made your head spin a little more than it should have. In an attempt to ignore your racing heart, you swallowed and looked up at him. As per usual, his face gave nothing away. 

“I’m surprised to see you here. Did Thor threaten you or something?” 

“I’m here of my own free will.” The song ended, and a slower one began. You started to release his hand, but he merely tucked you closer and continued dancing. You breathed him in again. He was wearing some sort of cologne tonight, but you could still make out the spiced, warm scent of his skin beneath it. He knew what kind of effect he had on you, right? He had to? “Though he may have...suggested that I put in an appearance.”

Your mind conjured up images of the way that Thor might suggest such a thing—based on the interactions you’d witnessed between them, you had to wonder if it had involved noogies or wrestling—but said nothing. His body was smooth beneath his suit, and solid even as he moved. He felt...steadier than you would have expected. For as stealthily as he moved, you always sort of expected that he’d feel...slithery. You squeezed his shoulder. “Well. I’m glad you’re here.” His hand rested against your waist as you moved. It was simple enough, innocent enough, but it was hard to focus on anything else. You tried hard, not entirely willing to let yourself fall to mush in the middle of a conversation. “And, uh...you clean up nice. You look...really...great.” 

You could feel the blood rise into your cheeks, mostly out of embarrassment over such a dumb comment. Of course he knew that already. You ducked your head. Hell, you might have backed away from him and excused yourself to go get a drink or something, if it weren’t for the way his other arm held you close.

“As do you.” He leaned forward and breathed, more than spoke, his next words in your ear: “I was worried I’d turned you off of the color green entirely.”

A quiet laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it. It was nice to know that he hadn’t forgotten about your interaction in the kitchen, though of course you didn’t like the idea that he’d been worrying over it for any length of time. “I don’t think you could do that,” you said, trying very hard to keep your voice light. “I couldn’t resist.”

Now. It was true that you hadn’t meant anything when you’d put your sweater on that night. It hadn’t meant much of anything, any more than wearing black meant you wanted Bucky, or wearing red meant you wanted Wanda. But it had been hard not to obsess over how close Loki had been, how his voice had dropped. How he’d looked at you. When you’d dressed tonight, you’d taken a curious little thrill in draping yourself in this beautiful, elegant green.

Loki made a sound like a thoughtful hum and spun you out away from him again. This time, when you came back to rest against his chest, he pressed a finger under your chin to guide your eyes up to his face. His eyes were dark. Enough of that well-composed mask had slipped to let you see the question in his face. You didn’t look away, and instead let the corner of your mouth curl into a half-smile. It was a scary question to answer, especially if you didn’t know his mind as well as you thought you did.

He must have seen something in your eyes, though, because in a moment he was slanting his mouth over yours. As he did, he practically released his hold on you—perhaps to allow you to escape if he had once again misinterpreted something—but you pressed yourself closer to him, sliding your arms up and around his neck. His tongue parted your lips and slipped inside, a little more hesitantly than you would have expected. When you responded in kind, however, his confidence grew. Although you weren’t normally one for PDA, you let him explore your mouth, taste you, even as the other couples dancing around you faded into nothing. When you took charge and ran your tongue along his teeth, you heard him growl, low in his chest.

“With me,” he said when he’d finally broken the kiss. He took your hand and led you, without much ceremony, out of the room. The hallway wasn’t quite abandoned—there were still too many people in the Tower for that—but the few lonely people taking a breather or sending a text to someone else didn’t look up as you passed. Finally, Loki ducked around a corner and pressed you against the wall. Your stomach tightened pleasantly when you met his eyes. “I’m not mistaken here, am I?” 

_You’re beautiful._ The words sprang, unbidden, into your mind, and you smiled to yourself as you shook your head to clear it. He really was. Those warm eyes fixed on you. Those cheekbones, now just slightly flushed from dancing. Those lips that you’d been kissing only a moment ago? You shook your head again, more purposefully now. “No, you’re not mistaken. Can I kiss you again?”

He didn’t move for a moment—a very long moment. Instead, he studied your face as though he were looking for some sign that he was wrong, that this was a trick. Imagine trying to trick the god of mischief. When he found what he was looking for, he moved closer again—but pressed his lips to your jaw, trailing kisses along your jawline up to behind your earlobe. Despite yourself, you whimpered. That had always been your weakness. How had he discovered it so quickly?

“Are you sure you want this?” he asked again, even as his hands roamed your body. He gripped your hips through the satiny material of your dress, pressed against you. You tugged the hair at the nape of his neck. Whatever he was talking about, whatever “this” meant, you wanted it. When you didn’t answer, he pulled back to look at you again. “Tell me I’m not wrong. Tell me I’m not crazy.”

“You’re not,” you said, almost too quickly. “You’re right. You’re sane. You’re _good_ , Loki. And you’re beautiful.” 

He laughed, low, to himself. “I don’t know that I’d go that far, darling, but thank you.”

Feeling brave, you leaned forward to press your lips to his. It was soft, chaste even, but now that you’d felt his lips, going without them just felt wrong. “How far _would_ you go?”

When he looked up at you again, his eyes were glinting. “Don’t tempt me.” He looked at your mouth, and something about that made you shiver. “I suppose the honorable answer, however, is ‘As far as you’d like.’” 

Your stomach fluttered and you actually had to remind yourself to breathe. He looked like he meant it. “Well...” Your voice cracked, and you swallowed hard before trying again. “Let’s go, then.” 

Loki growled again and moved in for another kiss. This one was fiercer, hungrier. His hands still pressed against you as though they could claim you. There was a fire in you that you hadn’t felt in a long time, if indeed you ever had before. Yesterday—as recently as _yesterday—_ you had barely let yourself wonder about something like this, and now your fingers were tangled in his hair as he kissed you. Abruptly, he pulled away again and took your hand to tug you away from the wall. You weren’t quite sure where he was taking you, and maybe he wasn’t sure himself, but then his hand closed around a doorknob and he pushed it open. 

It was a closet. Some part of you wanted to laugh—you each had a full suite of rooms in the Tower above you and you were in a closet?—but when Loki turned to you, all rational thought fled your mind. He pulled you flush against his body and kissed you again, stoking that fire in your belly. He tasted so good. That was the only thought you could take hold of even as he walked you backwards until you were pressed against the wall again. You groaned into his mouth.

It didn’t take long for him to reach between the two of you and hike your skirt up to your hips. You felt his fingers brush against the gusset of your panties, and he growled again. That sound…

“You’re so warm,” he murmured, scarcely pulling back far enough to speak. “Are you wet too?”

The answer was yes. Of course the answer was yes. But rather than answering right away you smirked at him and leaned forward to try to kiss him again. He pulled his head back then, to keep it just out of reach. He wanted an answer, then. You could play along with that. You drew in a long breath, trying to focus on anything except your racing heart, and then exhaled. “Why don’t you touch me and find out?”

If he was surprised, he gave no sign of it. Indeed, without any forewarning, he tugged your panties to the side and slipped two fingers inside you. The quickness of it all made you gasp and tilt your head backwards, smacking it just a little too hard against the wall behind you. Loki slipped his other hand behind your head and kissed you again. He wasted no time. It didn’t take long for him to find just the right rhythm and, with his fingers pumping and twisting inside you and his thumb brushing against your clit, guide you over the edge into climax. He didn’t break the kiss as he did, and swallowed your moans even as he worked you through the trailing aftershocks of pleasure. He kept up the rhythm with his fingers, pumping them in and out of you, lazily, even as you caught your breath.

“That...doesn’t usually happen so fast,” you whispered, cheeks aflame. Was it shyness or simple exertion? Did it matter?

Loki laughed to himself again and moved in to whisper in your ear: “I am a god, pretty girl.” The heat of his breath tickled your ear. You wanted to shiver again, but somehow managed to keep it together. He took your earlobe between his teeth and nipped just hard enough. “Will you have me?” 

Already. This was going so fast. A part of you—maybe the part that was dizzy and gasping and still kind of boggling at the way the evening had played out—wanted to giggle and ask what, exactly, he thought you’d followed him in here for. Thankfully, you had just a little bit more composure than that. You felt a smile creep across your features before you leaned forward to capture his lips again. “Yes. Please.”

It was hard to say exactly what you’d been expecting, but his reaction still surprised you. He crushed your lips with his, tasting, touching, exploring. Claiming. Even as he did that, he hiked your leg up around his waist. Your other leg was already so unsteady that you might have toppled over, if it weren’t for his body bracing you against the wall. He reached between you again, to push your panties to the side and press the head of his cock against your entrance. 

But then he froze.

You wanted him so badly you could practically _taste_ it. You imagined him pressing inside you, the long delicious slide until his hips were flush with yours. You tried to arch closer, and when that didn’t work, you tried to push _him_ closer with your foot, but he didn’t move. You forced yourself to open your eyes (when had you even closed them?!) and the nearness of him made your breath catch in your throat.

“What are you doing?” you asked, doing your best not to whine it at him. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just making sure,” he murmured. “You’re sure?”

Something tightened in your chest this time. When he was the enemy, he had been so sure of himself. He’d been arrogant. But now his place in the world was less certain. He had you standing here, open to him like this, and he still doubted you? The image of him backing away from you in the kitchen flashed through your mind. You took hold of the lapels of his jacket and tugged on the fabric—less to pull him any closer, and more to get his attention. “I’m sure. I want you. Please, Loki?

“Ah, darling.” Loki’s voice held just a little too much bravado now, as though he were compensating. Still, he offered you a dazzling grin and readjusted his grip on your thigh. He kissed you gently just behind your earlobe and growled: “I thought you’d never ask.”

Before you’d had much of a chance to process his words, he’d buried himself completely inside you. A sharp, unexpected cry escaped you, but when you covered your mouth with your hand, Loki reached up to drag it away. He kissed the corner of your mouth and fell still for a moment, giving you time to adjust to the intrusion. He was thick, and much warmer than you would have expected. You could feel yourself stretched wide around him, feel the way he was throbbing already. You whimpered his name, a desperate plea—for what? It was hard to tell. He squeezed your wrist once more before releasing it, and you immediately wrapped your arm back around his neck.

“Alright?” He asked after a while. It was hard to find your words, but you nodded for him anyway, catching and holding his gaze in hopes that he would see the truth in your eyes. 

Maybe he did. He began moving again, slowly, pulling away from you almost completely before returning to fill you again. All the while, he kept his mouth on yours. For as frenetic as things had been up until this point, his pace was almost...leisurely? The desperation from only moments ago had all but vanished, and had been replaced with this delicious, languorous rhythm. He kissed—and fucked—like he had all the time in the world, like there was nothing in all the universe except the two of you. He moved slowly enough for you to feel every single inch of him, and yet somehow your skin burned. When you couldn’t take it any longer, you twisted your head away from his and took several deep breaths. “I need—” 

“I know.” But nothing changed. He kept up the same pace as he went back to trailing warm, open-mouthed down the side of your neck. When he sank his teeth carefully into your skin, you shuddered.

“I’ll beg.” It was a warning, a promise, an offering. He felt so good, but you wanted more. Right then, in that very moment, you’d do anything he asked of you.

“That won’t be necessary.” He sucked a little harder on your skin for a moment, but then pulled away again. He was marking you. Heat flooded through your body at the realization, and it was _almost_ enough. “Not tonight, anyway.” He released your ankle so he could cup your face in both of his hands. You might have whimpered again, if he hadn’t also begun to thrust a bit harder, a bit faster. You choked out a grateful moan, which only made his grin wider. “Is this what you need, my pretty girl? Hm?” His thumbs brushed against your cheekbones. You saw the stars. That was all there was to it. This man, this god, was pounding into you relentlessly, holding your face like it was the sweetest treasure, and he let you see the stars.

You felt that telltale pressure beginning to build again, a tightness, a warmth, and you wrapped your leg around him just a little bit tighter. He didn’t stop. If anything, he moved even harder, even faster, fucking deep inside of you as your climax grew. Just before it broke, you tugged roughly on his hair as you dragged his mouth to yours one more time. He laughed once, but quickly abandoned it in favor of delving his tongue into your mouth and drinking down your pleasured cries. Only moments later, his hips faltered, stuttered against you, and it was his turn to groan into your mouth. He was coming too.  
The knowledge—and the rush of his seed—filled you with an unexpected warmth. God, even now he felt so good.

He pressed his temple against yours as the two of you caught your breath. You kept your leg locked around him, not yet willing to give up the way he filled you. He growled one more time, sounding every bit like something feral before straightening a bit. He didn’t fight to pull very far away from you, but he did lean back to get a better look. Some of that sadness had crept back into his face, as had that same uncertainty as before. Your cheeks were hot again, but perhaps it was too dark in the closet for him to be able to tell.

“That was really good,” you said, doing your damndest to sound unruffled. Your voice trembled a bit, but, for the most part, did not betray you. 

“Really good.” Loki sounded a bit put-off. Perhaps he was used to more glowing praise. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling.

You made a sound of agreement as you twirled some of his hair around your finger. “Mm-hmm. _Really_ good. But I think… Could the next time be in a bed, maybe? Or on a couch?”

“Next time.” He repeated you again, disbelief coloring the edges of his words. “With me?” 

Your stomach clenched anxiously. You’d gone into this whole thing thinking that it might be something long-term, but what if that wasn’t really what Loki had in mind? You let your arms drop away from his shoulders, suddenly wishing you could hide your face. “Um, maybe? If you’ll have me? Or if not, that’s—”

He pulled away then, letting himself slip out of you. Strange, how quickly you’d become accustomed to the feeling of him inside you. He refastened the fly on his trousers and then reached to smooth down your dress. What was he doing? You pushed his hands away to do it yourself, and then adjusted the bodice of your dress where it had twisted a bit. It would be stupid to let disappointment ruin the whole night. At least you could look back on these last few moments and have a nice thing to remember. He barely knew you. It was fine.

He cupped your face in his hands again, tilting it upwards so you had to look at him. Before you could ask him what exactly he was doing, however, he was kissing you again, every bit as deeply and fiercely as he had before. When he pulled away, he took your hand and opened the door. He all but dragged you through the hallway, taking quick glances at you over his shoulder as if making sure you were still there. Things were moving much too quickly for your poor frazzled brain: by the time you figured out how to say what you needed to ask, you were standing in front of an elevator bay.

“What are you doing?” Your voice was a little too incredulous for you, a little too demanding, but Loki only smirked at your attempt as he pushed the button to call for the elevator. He stepped in for another kiss; you still wanted him too badly to press him to answer your question, so you complied. He nudged you against the wall again, offering some blessed stability to make up for your legs, which still trembled under your weight. When the elevator arrived, the doors opened with a quiet ding, and Loki gestured towards the interior with a question still clear on his face.

“I’m taking us upstairs. For the next time.” His eyebrows furrowed. “Unless...would you like to dance a little more first?”

The only response you could muster was a growl as you pulled him down to meet your lips again and pushed him inside the elevator.


End file.
